MJ Brewer ~ The Writerhttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com
Guess What I'm Thinking NowMon, 26 Jun 2017 02:32:49 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngMJ Brewer ~ The Writerhttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com
The Neighborshttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/the-neighbors/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/the-neighbors/#respondMon, 26 Jun 2017 02:24:49 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=830]]>Ever since the new neighbors moved in upstairs, my kids and I haven’t had but two solid nights of sleep. They moved in nearly three months ago and seem to agree on less as time progresses. I’d never seen them, but judging from their footfalls I’d guess it was Alice the Goon from the old Popeye cartoon and Jack Sprat, the proud parents of a baby who wakes up every morning at 6:50.

The generally ignored infant cries and coughs with pangs of hunger not to be squelched for at least half an hour. I’m guessing the diaper’s dripping wet and bulging after a night of being ignored. But after calling him twice, my landlord assured me their warning had been given.

After a long day of soccer practice, ice skating lessons, a library run, and filling the cupboards with groceries, I was exhausted. Still, I managed to clean house, do laundry, wash the car, and read an entire four-page chapter of my book before hitting the sheets. As I lay down, it’s almost as if the neighbors hit their cue. I heard them squabbling as I closed my eyes. I wondered why they even stayed together. Obviously some sick relationship where they give each other the anguish they felt necessary to confirm their miserable lives.

“At least I have a fucking job,” the sailor’s mouthed wife burst into the silent night’s air. “You’re here long enough to eat my food and run out the door with your friends. You never spend time with me or the baby unless it’s for a quickie on your way out the door.”

The male, I’ve come to find out as “Jason,” muttered an incoherent response.

“Exactly!” she retorted, “That’s exactly what I’m …”

I’d bled her noise out with my cellphone by playing a meditation piece from the Internet to lull me to sleep. As tired as I was, I was certain it wouldn’t be more than five minutes tops before my mind vacated the drama. I drifted off to sleep wondering just how bad they could be before one finally killed the other.

A flash of light accompanied by a loud BANG! Caused me to jump straight up in bed. My hair was stuck against my neck, while perspiration skated down the sides of my face. It didn’t seem like I’d been asleep that long.

Silence.

The phone set to the side of me still chilled my stiff arm as I picked it up to see the time. 6:45 a.m. The baby should be crying any time now. Perhaps that’s what woke me up. No, I argued with myself, I definitely heard a gunshot and saw a flash of light – but my eyes had been closed. I wasn’t going to stick around and argue with myself. There wasn’t time for that now. I needed to act on the side of caution and get my own kids to safety. The last thing I needed was a screaming lunatic plunging down the stairway that adjoined our apartments and demanding revenge for the times I tattled on them.

I climbed from bed and threw my robe on, listening for a noise all the while. I sort of hoped I’d hear the woman’s ranting profanities or the baby crying to establish nothing had changed. Still, quiet and unmoving air remained.

My son turned blearily over as I poked him in the back. “Wake up. Wake up,” I whispered as loudly as I could. “We need to get out of here.”

With Jay close behind, his shoes in his hand, the teenager stepped in front to grab my purse and open the door. For fifteen, his face resembled a much stronger adult male. Megan, on the other hand, was smaller stature and petite. She was often mistaken for a third grader although she was in fifth. I thanked God for her small size now as I lugged her through the apartment.

Once in the car, the clock on the dashboard read 6:50 a.m. Not too bad. My kids trusted me enough to know that when my voice was serious they needed to follow and ask questions later. At least I had that going for me.

Loading my daughter in the back, Jay fastened himself in the front. I threw the car in drive and pulled out from under the carport. Leaving the house transformed into a duplex in the rearview mirror. Megan curled up in the backseat, her blanket wrapped snugly around her with her eyes closed.

“So what’s happening?” Jay’s ruffled hair poked out in all directions, his green eyes barely visible in the light of the rising sun.

I explained what happened to him and he shook his head. “I thought you were waking me up to work out,” he said, following up with, “What if it was a bad dream and all of this was for nothing?”

He’s right, of course. If it was a dream, I’d be the laughing stock of town if I called the police. But what if it wasn’t? What if a dead body was crumpled on the floor above our place with a person sitting quietly nearby, a gun on the floor. It could be the spouse or even the baby.

They had made a habit of drinking regularly at an exponential level. Believe me, I’d heard the parties through the flu and coaxing my kids back to sleep. They probably did more than drink. I didn’t care what they did to themselves as long as they allowed us to sleep. The gunshot was violating that right.

I pulled into a hospital driveway where we wouldn’t stand out and pulled out my phone. The operator picked up right away. I explained about the noise I heard and that had to have been a gunshot or fireworks. I was unsure of its origin but didn’t want to take unnecessary chances. I wasn’t about to admit it may have been a dream. The operator told me to hang tight and an officer would call back.

My seat reclined back above Megan’s feet and her brother rolled his window partially down to allow fresh air inside. He flipped the ignition off. “Might as well save some gas,” he muttered and pushed his seat back a bit. I dozed for a few seconds, my head refusing to allow me absolute peace as I kept wondering “what if?”

About twenty minutes later, my phone sang out the cheerful whistle of my fabulous ringtone. “Hello?” I was anxious and exhausted at the same time.

“Officer Wilson here. I drove through and checked out the neighborhood but saw nothing of concern,” he started. “I didn’t want to knock on the door at this hour if we weren’t sure it was from there. No sense in stirring a hornet’s nest, right?”

I suppose that was the best answer. I mean, at least I called. But if I called again, would I be “crying wolf”? Regardless of the question, I thanked the officer and we returned home. The three of us staggered into the house, slippers, robes, and poking up hair to tumble back into bed.

Just as I lay down and pulled the sheets up, I heard the fowl-mouthed woman going at it again. My mind drifted slowly into a world of disgusting familiarity as I sank back into deep and much needed sleep.

Again, as if spring-loaded, my ears hear a reverberating blast and my body popped straight up in bed, head craned toward the doorway where a stream of light shined past it down the hall. “Jay?” I call out.

A silhouetted figure steps into the light, casting a darkened shadow across my bed. Although I couldn’t make out the specific features of her face and had never seen her anyway, I knew who it was. Her voice, now almost serene and low, slowly enunciated, “Nosey bitch.” Her hands were pulled together in front, and even without seeing it, I knew what was next.

BANG!

What I didn’t know is if I would wake up in a pool of sweat again or die bloody as a psychic. Either way, I wouldn’t be telling anyone, but I may finally sleep.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/the-neighbors/feed/0Screen Shot 2017-06-25 at 8.21.22 PMthefilmsceneSegregation Ends Herehttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/02/20/segregation-ends-here/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/02/20/segregation-ends-here/#respondMon, 20 Feb 2017 16:03:33 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=771]]>I’ll never forget my mother’s last words to me as I left for school that morning. She referred to the debate the day before, when the United States President reminded us that we are all brothers and sisters, saying “Being different can mean long or short hair, freckles or not. Our differences are what create cultures and a variety of sharing.” Our president didn’t see it that way. But then again, people were more accepting of overweight, caucasian politicians than they were of skinny black folks. President Jacoby agreed with the consensus and acted on it without weighing any feedback. I’ll never forget my last day before the president got to decide whom I would become.

Our elected president didn’t see it that way. But then again, people were more accepting of overweight, caucasian politicians than they were of skinny black folks. I’ll never forget the last day I was truly allowed to be myself.

February 25, 2029, was the last day my skin had any pigment in it. While some citizens were a week or so earlier and some a little later, by 2030 we’d all have the distinct characteristics as albinos. I found this nearly humorous when I remembered a girl in my preschool class who had been avoided due to her “natural birthright” of bleached skin tones. Still, as natural as it was for her, my skin now is natural to me.

I didn’t think people should play God and insist on physical changes. Then again, we used to have debit and charge cards before the implanted chip was inserted between our brows. Some people reacted negatively with horrendous headaches, but scientists insisted this procedure ensures theft would drop to a low without the ability to steal purses and wallets. While this seemed true, at first, the level of murders went through the roof. Imagine that. So this was the latest fix–no color would supposedly cure racial segregation.

The presidency operated in the same fashion as it usually did. The people voted on the act after hearing bloated “intelligent” men explain why blanching was necessary. Of course, they all agreed. But even now, watching the people in the waiting room exit one by one, washed out and unsmiling was like witnessing the colors being sucked from a rainbow.

“This will be better,” they kept saying. I almost agreed, until I approached the desk and allowed them to scan my forehead. “Macey Mueller,” I said. The man behind the glass exchanged glances with the woman next to him before coming back to me.

“Whoa, southern bell, you’re going to take a bit longer.” His reassuring smile didn’t reflect the same distaste as the rest of his expression. “We’re gonna need to recalibrate that drawl as well. Hope you’re not in a hurry.” He pointed me to the side of the room with a few empty chairs between an Indian family and some Mexicans. “Ya’ll mind if I sit here?” I asked. I suppose we all have something in common after all.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/02/20/segregation-ends-here/feed/0segregation-ends-herethefilmsceneCat and Mousehttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/02/12/cat-and-mouse/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2017/02/12/cat-and-mouse/#respondSun, 12 Feb 2017 15:08:34 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=696]]>A typical Thursday afternoon, I drove the car home with my 10-year-old daughter singing to the rhythm and rhymes of Trolls’ soundtrack. She insisted on singing duet-style with her role as Anna Kendrick, leaving me with the tenor portion of Justin Timberlake. If it was a romance song, I’d have to think twice, but this was just good old fun for our hour-long drive back to Ogden.

Throughout the freeway entrances and exits, the carpool and the merges, driving can seem like such a chore sometimes. One time of allowing my mind to drift could mean an extra five or ten minutes of time–the difference of rush hour traffic or not. And our last ditch from carpool lane to exit almost rises simultaneously, so I need to remain prepared. This particular day, I felt like I could conquer the world. My day had flowed like milk in a cup.

As the exit drew near, I noticed a black VW sedan directly behind me. It’d been further back for quite a while but drew closer as my exit neared. If I were to suddenly stop, or even not so suddenly, I’d have to entertain another passenger in my car. I hated this but knew my exit was a short time off, so I figured he’d have to wait a few more seconds.

Still, I waited with eager anticipation for the solid white line running up the right side of my car to change to a pattern of ellipses. My window of opportunity of making my exit was small. I checked my right mirror ensuring the right lanes were clear enough I could scoot quickly. When the dots started, I turned my wheel right and craned around to check for a clear path once again. The sedan had crossed the solid line and was alongside my gas tank. My hands closed on the wheel and I swerved back left toward the wall running alongside the driver’s door. Quick thinking prevented me from hitting the wall as my hands corrected the movement.

Checking again, I could see my way was clear clean across the freeway and moved my car across. “Geez, that was close, wasn’t it?” My daughter had stopped her cheerful song and her big blue eyes were wide in anticipation.

“Yeah, a little too close,” I replied.

I stole a glance at the sedan as my car leaned right off the exit. The other driver smiled sarcastically as if he’d won some sort of battle. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, casually delivering the “New York salute.” He wasn’t even supposed to be in the carpool lane. The world is full of “exceptional” people, isn’t it?I couldn’t wait to get home. The longest part of my day was always the drive. But then again, it was really the only time I had to bond with my daughter. By the time I get home, I need to work on the cleanup from the morning, make dinner, eat dinner, shower, complete my schoolwork, help the kids with theirs, prepare my lesson plans for the next day, and catch up on everyone’s daily events in about three hours. I typically relish the hour-long drive home with one sweet and curious girl.

I couldn’t wait to get home. The longest part of my day was always the drive. But then again, it was really the only time I had to bond with my daughter. By the time I get home, I need to work on the cleanup from the morning, make dinner, eat dinner, shower, complete my schoolwork, help the kids with theirs, prepare my lesson plans for the next day, and catch up on everyone’s daily events in about three hours. I typically relish the hour-long drive home with one sweet and curious girl.

The two exit lanes gradually join up with another highway exit as the amusement park of Lagoon reminds me it’s always there and waiting. My daughter always presses her face to the window and allows onlookers into her mind of imagination. I feel as if the next time we go she’ll already be bored while she gets her stamp. But today, I’m glad she’s a bit distracted because the black VW has sensed his upper hand against a woman and a child and decided to join us.

My car merged with the other highway with a speed limit of 55. I pulled across three lanes to the left, sped up to about 70 so I could leave the freak behind, but he followed. Changing to the center lane, I slowed to the rate of surrounding traffic. There he was again. I suspected this wasn’t a coincidence any longer. I moved all the way to the right side, and he followed again. Aware I was conscious of his movements now, the game of cat and mouse continued. He was having a good time and probably had no pressing events to come home to — a nice way to kill time, but he was getting bored with me. Creeping up on my bumper, he flashed his headlights at me a couple of times. Brake check. He slowed for a second and then rode up again. A second brake check and I slowed down to 40 mph. There was no one in the lane to my left, but he was enjoying this too much to pass. My fuel light flashed notifying me I was almost out of gas.

“I’m not going to text,” I reassured her as she reached down, grabbed my phone from the side pocket of my purse and handed it to me. Like a hawk, she carefully watched to make sure I was telling the truth. Her eyes narrowed as she watched me dial the phone.

“Why are you calling 9-1-1?”

“Oh, there’s some freak following us and he won’t pass. Every time I change lanes, he follows. Watch.” I sped up and changed lanes. He followed again.

My phone wasn’t audibly ringing, so I stole a glance at it and verified I had a connection. I did, but it got no answer. After waiting for what seemed an eternity, I sped up to 90 mph and crossed over to the fast lane, hoping to get pulled over by a concerned officer. No such luck, but my new friend thoroughly enjoyed the blood-pumping speed. My daughter squeezed hard against her seat, no Troll song escaping her lips, and her eyes were glued to the side view mirror. “What does he want?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I answered and shrugged. “I imagine we’re his Thursday night entertainment.”

“Can’t someone else be his entertainment?”

I changed lanes, hung up the phone, and slowed down in the center lane again. But now we were down to two lanes with me in the right lane. I kept a sharp eye out for a police cruiser but couldn’t find any. Shaking my head, I dialed again and got the same response. Am I in a bad area? I wondered. Could their system be down? No, that’s preposterous. I hung up again.

Here we were in Ogden, my fuel light was blinking red, and the jerk was still chewing at my bumper. I tried to make out his license plate, but with the rear windows tinted, I couldn’t see anything other than he had the creative design of the Utah arches. “Nikki, read his license plate off to me,” I demanded, and I dialed 9-1-1 for the third time. Our street was coming up and she craned around in her seat beneath her seatbelt. “I can’t see it.”

“You need to climb into the back seat, honey.” The screen on my phone had an icon that continuously blinked but still had no sound. Maybe it was a safety precaution for those who might be hiding… still, I had no idea if I was even connected.

Nikki climbed into the back seat and I swerved into the turn lane as the light blinked yellow. I slowed until it was red and gunned it through. I imagined him laughing as he followed me through the red light. My gas light continued blinking as I continued past our street to the next four-way stop. “Do you see his plate?”

“Yeah, I think it says something like…”

“No,” growing agitated, I gritted my teeth and slowly replied, “Okay, Nikki, ‘I think’ and ‘something like’ aren’t good enough descriptions. I need to know exactly what is on his license plate so the police can find him. Okay?”

“Fine.” She turned back, leaning over the seat and I turned right. I changed lanes after the following intersection, and he continued following all the way to Riverdale Road, which was its usual busy three-lane each direction highway. The department finally answered. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” I described the situation to the man on the other end of the phone who instructed me to turn left at the light.

“I’m going to the Riverdale Police Department, right?” I asked. When he confirmed that’s where I was going, I informed him that was my intention too. The leach followed us all the way through the left turn on 700 West where the police department’s street was, right after a car lot with a small strip mall containing a music store and several little stores. When I saw the big, green sign with the police department information, I pulled into the left turn lane and he followed. I turned and could see him hesitating before he made a U-turn at that point. I could feel his energy heighten, even from where I was, and knew he wasn’t gone.

I passed a police car driving up toward the station and pulled over. The three-starred officer got out, another in a truck joined us, and requested I pull into the station lot and wait. He jumped into his car and the truck followed me, parking beside me. He asked me a few questions and then asked what I wanted from the police force. I was dumbstruck for a moment as the word “protection” rang through my head. I asked him if he could follow me at a safe distance to Costco to fuel up. I told him if he was back far enough, perhaps the guy would follow me. He agreed and off we went.

Officer Trent Thompson followed directly behind me all the way to the station.

I jumped out and got gas while he approached me with a pen and paper to take my information down. When I finished, he again met with me to notify me that they found the man. He was at a music store where he worked and it only seemed he was following me. I stood, mouth agape at what I was hearing. I was nothing short of astounded.

When we drive anywhere, my little girl insists on sitting in the back where she scrunches down in the seat, peeking between the front seats into the mirror. She searches for the black VW sedan so she can warn me in time. My hopes are that the next time I see him, she isn’t with me at all, only Smith & Wesson. Then we’ll have a better idea of who the cat is.

The woman next to her tightens her jaw and throws her paddle in the air. “I’ll give seventy-five!”

Hazel won’t lose to this hag, the neighbor who stole her future husband and sent wild rumors about town that she was frigid. “One hundred! I’ll give you a hundred!” Then she callously whispered, “Take that, Olivia.”

A strange calm enveloped her body. Hazel relaxed for the first time during the auction with her eyes resting on the crate at the front of the room at the auctioneer’s feet. The dust gathered on the boards was thick and curling, but the places fingers grabbed to carry it up there were barren. There had to have been at least twenty cans inside.

A hush fell over the crowd. Offering so much for any crate seemed outrageous. In fact, the largest amount ever offered for a simple crate of canned beans was under two hundred. There were only four containers of food left to be haggled over though with about twelve families to fight over them. Now it was clear as to why Olivia was so desperate. Still, she looked ragged, much more so than Hazel.

Hazel remembered when they attended school together. Not really “together” as if they were friends or anything but at the same time. They’d always been stiff competition, each pushing the other to her limits. Neither budging until the last drop of sweat hit the gymnasium floor. Olivia was always the prettier one, though. Hazel hated her for that. She was certain Olivia would be chosen to marry the senator’s son and live on the corner of Easy Street and Leisure Lane. They were, after all, the Junior Prom’s king and queen. But that was the undoing of Olivia’s future.

Immediately following the prom, it’s said that Olivia and her date stopped at a make-out point above the city for a romantic fling. The wind caught hold of her wrap and pulled it free from her, tangling the silky fabric in a bush at the side of a cliff. In his noble effort to retrieve it, he tumbled helplessly to the rocks below. The town was overcome with despair. Olivia quickly lost her position and was cast down into the depths of the rest of the ordinary people, where there was hardly enough room to stand much less net rations.

All the women married, or at least that was their goal. Olivia had enticed a second suitor to father her child before realizing he was already taken. When he discovered his predicament, he moved his family to another town that very night. No one knew of it until the next day. Olivia, devastated, determined she would have the baby anyway. She decided to do it all on her own, despite what everyone else thought.

They all hoped their children would marry out of the dirt and be chosen by one of the predominant family. Doing so, given the children respected and loved their parents, would save the lives of the entire family. But of course, the more children in the family to choose from, the better the chance of escaping squalor.

Olivia had only one child–a little girl. She named her Felicity. The child inescapably embodied the image of her mother. The same sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes with dirty blond scraggly curls falling down her seven-year-old body. She clutched at her mother’s free hand. Olivia had aged tremendously. Hazel doubted she’d even be around to see Felicity marry at the rate she was going. She had the appearance of a sixty-five-year-old woman, even though she was twenty-six. The last eight years had aged her dramatically.

Hazel smirked as she remembered Aesop’s fable of “The Tortoise and the Hare.” The way the hare zipped along, flippantly teasing the tortoise. Sleep invaded its senses as it fell prey to resting until the tortoise won the race. The story of Olivia’s life, Hazel decided. The tart mistakenly thought she had her future in the bag until ripped from her clutches. Now look at her. A large grin stretched across Hazel’s face as the silence thickened.

Two men from the stand marched down the stairs, carrying the crate into the parting crowd. Everyone rotated, in turn, and watched the men as the sea of people parted, with gaping mouths, and encircled the men with the type of stares surrounding a car accident–not wanting to look but having little choice. The wave continued until the men stopped in front of Olivia. She didn’t move.

Her pink and white polka dot dress, ratty around the edges, betrayed her haughtiness as she watched them lower the crate at her feet. Felicity stared at the crate and upturned her face to see her mother.

One of the men pulled a syringe-looking device from his belt and held out his other hand, waiting. Olivia extended the paddle toward him and he accepted it, handing it to his partner. He then cradled her arm, vein side up, in the palm of his hand. The needle making its way through the tiniest of holes amidst a brown peppered patch of skin, caused her to wince and bite her lip. Taping the hose to her arm, the other end of the vial attached to a large clear bag dangling from his waistline. A steady stream of blood siphoned in, immediately turning the once empty container a dark liquid crimson.

Exposing another needle hooked to a bag, this one containing a light pink substance, he paused. They exchanged glances and the distant murmurs of the crowd started. Olivia gave a subtle nod and let go of her daughter’s hand. Felicity quickly clasped her mother’s leg and bowed her head, as if she didn’t dare look up.

With her hand free of her daughter, she reached toward the man with the solution who quickly jabbed the needle in. “Agh,” she screamed as he daughter clutched tightly to her leg, wincing as if sharing the pain. Hazel imagined it nearly unbearable as in their school days, Olivia could take quite a lashing.

Hazel’s husband wasn’t here for the show today. He was working. He didn’t care much for this anyway but felt his time would be better spent working for money rather than participating in the auction. They only had two kids, but he was an accountant and provided adequately. Hazel never brought the kids along and only bid to get the numbers up, really. Most of the time, she enjoyed watching Olivia pay. After all, Olivia had ruined Hazel’s chance of marrying the prom king. She felt it was her turn to watch the life drain from Olivia’s beautiful body one year at a time. The way, she only had to get her to sacrifice about twenty more times before she’d be nothing more than a withering snake skin, sacrificed for her daughter’s survival.

When they introduced the next crate, Hazel glanced at Olivia and raised her paddle. “I’ll give you fifty!” she chimed with a toothy smile from ear to ear.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/11/06/the-auction/feed/0SoldthefilmsceneFamily Timehttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/13/family-time/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/13/family-time/#respondSat, 13 Aug 2016 19:44:19 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=630]]>The last terror any American family could imagine, but this family is prepared. The question remains as to if there are situations of which the ending cannot be predicted.

The alarm screamed through the neighborhood alerting everyone within a naked mile with a high-pitched wail of the war invading our town. Within seconds, the only light we were to see with was from the 7:00 p.m. lingering sun and the candles or flashlights of those prepared for outages. Aside from that, no streetlights, houselights, or any sort of powered lights, aside from headlights, were visible. Soon, when the fuel tanks were empty and battery life was used, those would be out too.

Without pondering too much of what was going on in the world, my goal was to grab my kids and hide in our private bunker. Years before my husband died, he’d crafted a secret panel under the island in the kitchen. The kids were small and we never talked about it because the saying of “loose lips sink ships” is one I believe, and kids don’t know any better. Occasionally, I’d tiptoe down in the evening hours to ensure our provisions were up-to-date and accounted for, allowing us to live for at least a month of supplies out of site. Now, I was more grateful than I could acknowledge my spouse had planned ahead despite how often I poked fun at him for doing so. I jokingly called him “Grandma’s ninny.” Seems this would be the perfect time for an apology if he were here. Still, I mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” toward the darkening sky.

“Braxton! Annie! Where are you?” I screamed from the front porch, but nothing could be heard over the sound of the air piercing alarm. My eardrums were ringing so hard I thought they would burst if I didn’t get in the house and cover them. No sooner had I retreated than I found a pair of earmuffs. Scarcely doing more than muffling the sounds of panic surrounding the immediate area, I wrapped them around my head and clenched them with my hands.

Returning to the front door, both kids rushed past me toward their rooms. “We haven’t got time for anything else. Follow me!” I hollered as I slammed the door closed and motioned with my arm hoping they wouldn’t argue but just obey. This was a rare occasion, but apparently fear had a way of convincing them. Both of them followed me into the kitchen. I opened the door beneath the counter where a couple of shelves held a few odds and ends emergency tools, such as a screwdriver and hammer, lifting the lower shelf out by a handle. The entire section was removed in a matter of seconds revealing a narrow staircase delving into darkness.

“What is it?” my preteen son asked. I grabbed the tools, tossed them down the hole, and motioned for them to follow. Without demanding an answer, Braxton followed his younger and much braver sister into the deep, dark pits of nothingness but trust. I followed them inside, grabbing hold of the cupboard door and closing it before lowering the shelves back down on top of our opening. It was pitch black.

“Ouch!” Annie hollered from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. I grabbed the light hanging in the darkness on the wall and lit up our new temporary quarters. It wasn’t more than the size of a bedroom. On one side was a wall made of water containers stacked on top of each other. The wall adjacent to it had freeze-dried food that wouldn’t be very delectable but would help us maintain life until we got help. In the corner were three rolled up sleeping bags with a pillow for each of us.

Braxton was fumbling with something, and I grabbed him by the shirt when I saw it was his cell phone. I hesitated between each word with a matter-of-fact tone. “What are you doing?” He shrugged casually before I continued, slapping the phone from his hand where it clattered into the corner. “We’re hiding. If you call, you’ll alert others to where we are.”

“It wasn’t working,” he scoffed, “We’re out of reach of any signals. Not like it would work now anyway.” He was right. The phone did hit the concrete pretty hard.

“Good,” Annie said, falling onto one of the rolled up beds. “What’s going on, Mom?” For a nine-year-old, she was often more of a critical thinker than her brother. Unfortunately, she was also a lot easier to excite – in a bad way. I didn’t quite know how to break it to her without setting off a stick of dynamite in a phone booth.

Both of them were eying me as if I had some ancient scroll revealing all the answers to life’s most complex questions. “I don’t know. From the alarm and the fragments of information I’d gathered before the television ditched us, I’m fairly sure we’re under attack. I can’t tell if more danger is emanating from another country or within.”

Both of them remained motionless and then exchanged glances. Terror settled on Annie’s face, but Braxton spoke first. “Like an alien attack or something?”

“You mean aliens from another world?” Annie shot at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Duh. Are there any other kind?” He rolled his eyes. I could see she was prepared to give a long-winded response, so I silenced her with a finger pressed against my lips. This month was going to be excruciating if we spent the entire time down here. I had no way to determine whether or not surfacing would be good, so we’d just have to wait and hope for the best.

“I’ve got to pee,” Braxton announced. I showed him where the sealed bags were and the container we would keep them. I prayed that they were as durable as the company promised. One leak at the bottom and the smell alone could kill us. “Where’s the bathroom?” he added.

**************

The month went by excruciatingly slow. For the first week and a half, we could hear bombings going off that were progressively closer before they ceased altogether. My mind played out all the scenarios I’d seen from television shows and movies trying to piece together and prepare myself for what was left. None of the scenarios was good, but eventually, we’d need to find out for ourselves.

The kids fought, as usual. But hey, they’re siblings. The three board games weren’t close to enough entertainment for us in that small space. I was certain we’d drive each other crazy or one would kill the other two. Sometimes I wondered if it would be me. Braxton, as determined as he was to play football, used the small space to do calisthenics, but the aroma of his sneakers was bad before. Although Annie and I both admired him for his obsessiveness, the smell was too much to bear and I had to insist he stop. A matter of life and death.

But as the days approached the end of the month, the pressures seemed to subside. Instead of lashing out at each other, our attention turned to unifying against whatever we’d need to overcome on the outside. We played games where we finished each other’s stories, mentally coming together with a bit more strength and support.

The fear of concentration camps, barren country, dead bodies everywhere stinking in the heat of the hot July sun fought in my mind as the most likely to take place. I wondered if there’d be insects. If there were, they’d have a feast. Rats would be awful, but live, wild beasts would be the worst. What if people still lived but mentally altered?

“Okay,” I said in an attempt to sound brave, “It’s time.” I took one long breath and exhaled, grabbing the stairs with my hands and placing my foot firmly on the step.

“Wait a minute,” Braxton interrupted me. “What if they’re all a bunch of zombies searching for brains?” I thought he was joking until I turned to tell him to shut up. That was when I saw the seriousness overcasting his face. I patted his head and headed up the stairway with him and Annie close behind.

“Wait a minute. Maybe you two should wait here,” I suggested. “I’ll come back with a safe place for us to go or the details of what to expect.”

“But what if you don’t come back?” Annie questioned.

“Then we just wait,” Braxton replied.

“Until when?” Annie argued. “Besides, there is only a couple of days left of food.”

“Okay,” I gave in, “We’ll go together. One for all and all for one, right?”

“Right!” both of them cheered a little less than convincingly.

I continued climbing the stairs to the top where the wooden shelves lay atop of the hole. I took a deep breath, placing my hand above my head onto the wooden plank and pushed. It gave away without friction. I cracked it open enough to see a golden haze as if the sun were rising to welcome us back. Golden dirt rose from the ground just past the seam I’d broken.

I gave the wooden slab a hefty shove pushing it completely clear of the opening. But before my eyes focused on a singular object, they burned so much they squeezed shut tight in pain. My throat followed suit and closed off, preventing any air from entering or exiting. “Gas,” I tried to enunciate, but my mouth moved soundlessly. A strange feeling, as if a funnel had been crammed down my throat to pour poisons in, disorienting me all at once and taking every bit of energy from my body.

My body crumbled onto my children knocking them inside the shelter. Neither of them spoke. I could sense no movement. The last thing that went through my mind was the time we’d spent together the final month. Just the three of us reconnecting. A family together at last.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/13/family-time/feed/0Family TimethefilmsceneNow and Thenhttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/10/now-and-then/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/10/now-and-then/#respondWed, 10 Aug 2016 14:03:35 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=623]]>The coolness of the morning air invades my throat and leaks down into my lungs, giving a strange sense of freedom. The stuffy place we live in doesn’t allow for clean air, as there’s only one place for air to come in or escape—our singular door. Some mornings the dense air in our neighborhood causes an asthma attack, but not today.

I close my eyes and breathe in, remembering my life five short years ago. If anyone would have told me I’d be struggling for food to feed my children and gathering pennies to pay my bills, convincing me would have been quite the challenge. I smell the dog food factory and wonder how many others smell it too. When it’s really hot out, and the wind blows considerably, I scurry into the hot apartment or taste the meaty liver in the air wafting up my nostrils and invading my pallet. It’s the only meat we get anymore. Perhaps I should be grateful for the free samples.

I plop down on the lumpy portion of lawn by my car watching the ants climb up the thick, rough-barked tree that reaches high into the clearest blue sky, dappled with clouds as soft as the foam on an inviting hazelnut frappuccino. The same sky I had five years ago before we were forced to moved from our prominent home in the next county.

My kids and I used to live in Draper, less than an hour away, but at the same time another world altogether. Our home was stationed far above on a mountainside, the air smelled sweeter, lighter and crisp. Sometimes the slow churning pollution covering the valley floor in the mountain’s bowels concealed the buildings in the oh-so-distant valley. Several degrees cooler, I was grateful we didn’t have to suffer like the poor schmucks in the valley below. Even our grocery stores had elite items, allowing us to stroll on the finer side of life—the privileged side—where the kids could play with neighbor friends and I didn’t need to remain outside the entire time protecting them from strangers, drug dealers, and thugs.

The mountainside housed sizable living quarters with four-door oversized garages protecting the luxury cars, family boats, and top-of-the-line motorcycles the families owned. The lawns were bright green with flowerbeds hugging the homes like an everlasting hug, not littering dandelions so thick the sparse grass could hardly be seen at all. The neatly trimmed hedges with an occasional topiary decorating the lawn, not like the half-dead trees jutting up as if attempting to pierce the sky with sharp, bare and half dead branches, threatening humanity to keep its distance.

I remember the couples jogging by with their special three-wheeled strollers, appearing from a Sears-Roebuck catalog with tank tops that coordinate with their shorts and Adidas shoes. Expensive water bottles strapped around their waists on a special belt, housing clean and pure mountain water. They don’t have water that leaves dark mineral fragments across the bottom of the bottles, or that scrape the roof of their mouth between their teeth when they swallow, coating their tongues.

The father steadied the stroller with one hand and picked up the tossed out rattle with the other. He gave the rattle a brisk wiggle before placing it in the baby’s tiny and innocent hand. The baby cooed and gave it a celebratory shake as if thanking his father in baby language. The family giggled and continued their jog with the sun on their faces and the cool wind at their backs.

In front of me now, I see two kids playing on the street from under the tree. Their tangled hair drifts in the leftover air spewed from the mountainside. Their clothes appear as Salvation Army rejects, a stained green shirt and wrinkled orange shorts with cloth-topped tennis shoes—K-mart’s $5 special. Probably all hand-me-downs.

The boys kick a ball up and down the street as it lazily wobbles side to side over the uneven edges where the stitching threatens to give way.

“I win!” A child gleefully shouts until his somewhat larger friend delivers a hard kick to his stomach, grabs the ball, and dashes home, leaving him doubled over in the gutter at the side of the road. “I won,” the boy groans insistently, “fair and square!”

How much does winning really mean?

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/08/10/now-and-then/feed/0Now and ThenthefilmsceneThe Good, the Bad, and the Deadlyhttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/06/07/the-good-the-bad-and-the-deadly/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/06/07/the-good-the-bad-and-the-deadly/#respondTue, 07 Jun 2016 07:59:03 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=607]]>Frantic, I drove home as fast as I could through sleeting rain, trying to make it home before my daughter got scared home alone. One of the things about being a single parent I hate is not being able to find a sitter on the days I find out at the last minute I need to stay and work. To be fair, they did tell me when I took the supervisory position there would be days where I had to stay at the last minute. The money was good, though, so I had to choose between survival or not. On those rare but panicky days, I flew like there was no tomorrow to my eight-year-old daughter’s side so she wouldn’t be frightened staying home alone for too long. I often laughed at myself for being as fearful as I was and wondered if it rubbed off on her. I’d heard of that.

The car bumped up into the driveway. The front screen door was closed, but the heavier door inside was wide open. Raindrops drizzled off the porch roof protecting the inside from the dampness. I wondered if Paisley burned the toast again and had to air everything out. It wouldn’t be the first time nor would it be the last.

The garage door opened and I parked inside. Even though everything appeared copasetic, there was something in the air hinting it was anything but normal. I found myself grabbing my purse off the seat, the stack of papers I needed to go over for work, and rushed through the garage door to the kitchen. No smoke hovered in the air inside, but the discomfort surrounding me thickened like a swarm of flies.

“Paisley?” I tried sounding like I wasn’t freaking out, but I failed miserably as I set my belonging on the counter. I got no answer. “Paisley?” I repeated a bit louder as I hustled through the kitchen into the living area. Still no sign of my curly headed, auburn-haired daughter with big brown eyes. No sign she’d even been here, which was odd. As much as I love my daughter, she’s a “Messy Marvin.” Clutter follows her wherever she goes like she’s some sort of a paper and crayon magnet, but not today.

The stairway separated the two rooms. After climbing to the top, I instinctively paused to listen. A scratching noise, like a mouse between the walls, captured my attention. My eyes shifted to the corner, and I cocked my head to hear the unusual sound. Was it the sad sounds of a puppy whining? A dank smell entered my nostrils and I picked up the indistinct scent of a wet and sweaty animal.

We don’t have a dog, and Paisley had better not brought one home—again. She had done it once before when she was playing with her kindergarten neighbor friend a few years ago. My heart was practically wrenched from my chest as I tried explaining all the reasons we couldn’t keep “Fluffy,” an extra large English sheepdog. Her eyes grew as large as fifty-cent pieces. They filled with tears and her little round cheeks turned red. I could barely handle this part. It was the trembling lower lip that almost caused me to join her. Thank goodness that day I’d explained the dog tags and that we needed to reunite Higgins with his owner. I hoped beyond all reason I wouldn’t have to go through that turmoil again.

“Paisley, you’d better not have a puppy in here. Remember the talk we had?” I said as I clamored to the top step.

Her bedroom door was cracked a little bit, so I administered a gentle push. I learned that trick a long time ago after flinging it open and nailing her forehead. She made sure to tell everyone about the purple lump between her eyes produced by her mother. She never explained it was an accident, and no one bothered asking. However, I could always tell right away who had been privy to the tale, because when I entered the room their eyes were always suspiciously searching me with taught pressed lips. I never had the balls to confront them, so I’d grab my daughter and leave embarrassed for no reason of my own. Now I’m extremely careful about opening doors if I’m unsure of where she is.

Beyond the door of the pink colored room, between her closet and under the blinds of the window, a balled up blanket quivered in the corner. Protruding from the top are two pom-pom ponytails of red curls. “Paisley,” I said her name as I yanked the blanket off her head in a peek-a-boo style, leaning in close to startle her. “There you are!”

Paisley screamed, cowering behind her hands. It wasn’t the playful “oh, Mommy, you found me” sort of scream—it was a terrified screech. Her arms shielded her face and she turned away. When she appeared to register it was only her mommy, my little girl threw her arms around my neck, sobbing into the strands of hair clasped between her face and my neck.

“Oh my goodness,” I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy to see me.” I wrangled her off of me and pulled her chin up with a finger, but her eyes cast downward. “What’s wrong, my little Paisley girl?”

That particular moment was when I noticed that not only was she not wearing the jeans she had on this morning, her underwear was blood-soaked and the waistband ripped. Speechless, I couldn’t look away, but gawked with my mouth hanging open.

A stranger’s voice crept out of my throat in a raspy whisper. “Oh my God,” the sound edged out of the depths of a mother who didn’t really want to know, “Who did this to you?” I wanted her to tell me it was a joke, and then I could tell her I changed my mind about Fluffy. I would have said “yes” for this to be a prank.

Paisley didn’t provide any answers. In fact, she didn’t utter a word. Her eyes, hollow with black hole pupils sucking at the light in the room, penetrated my lids with a psychic heat every time I blinked. I could hear her voice in my head asking why I had to work late today—why today?

I gathered my baby up in my arms and rose to my feet, stumbling to the stairway. My arms held the blanket tight around her so she could feel more secure. I snatched my purse from the couch ensuring my cell phone was in the pocket as I made my way out the front door. The screen door slammed hard behind me, but I left the heavy door wide open. Everything that mattered to me had already been violated, and there was nothing left of value to take. All I could think about was getting to the hospital. But I wasn’t thinking clearly myself. The car sat behind the closed garage door, so I used the keypad to gain access. The creaking garage door slowly squeaked upwards to reveal the car I’d been seated in just moments before all hell broke loose. It only takes the blink of an eye for our worlds to be ripped out from under us with what we value gone forever.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, repeatedly, as I loaded her into the front seat.

I had to pry her hands from around my neck in order to strap her in. “It’s okay now, Paisley,” I said, well aware that she was anything but okay. The treacherous journey of doctors and police testimonies was on the horizon, not to mention the court hearings. My little girl’s innocence was ruined and only this shaking little shell of a frail child remained in the center of chaos.

The cloudy sky was nothing short of a reflection of how she must be feeling, cold and muddled, dark and dreary, falling down on the windshield. People would expect her to “get over it” the way wipers smeared the rain from the window. The garage door closed and we were on our way. My knuckles gripped the steering wheel so hard it’s a wonder my bones remained inside my skin. I released my right hand and placed it on Paisley’s thigh, and she jumped. Her red curls flipped about when her face connected with my own. “I’m here, baby. I’m here now,” I tried to reassure her.

Ahead, the streetlight flashed from amber to red, and the car rolled to a stop. My stomach churned acid up into my esophagus as I witnessed the blood drain out of my little girl’s face. Her eyes were once again glued to the window as she sank back into the seat, placing her thumb in her mouth. She hadn’t done that since she was three and I convinced her there weren’t any boogeymen. Coincidentally, the closet she was afraid of is where I’d discovered her.

On the other side of her window, a man on a bicycle waited for the light to turn green. With a quick glance, he cast a smile in my direction. Paisley’s knees drew up to her chest and she encircled them with her arms. Her face bowed down hiding behind her bent up legs, covering her eyes. The man’s teeth gleamed, and he pedaled smugly away without a care in the world. He actually seemed to enjoy the heavy rain pelting his shirt like some sick masochist.

My attention was captured at that moment, turning toward my daughter who sat crushing her face into her knees even harder and rocking. “Paisley,” I said, “Do you know that man?” Without lifting her face, she nodded her head with her kneecaps jammed into her eye sockets.

My little girl raised her head, with a crimson face full of hatred, and filled the car with her voice, “He touched me! He hurt me! He—he—he…” Her face collapsed back against her legs and she muttered incoherently, rocking even harder.

The man pedaled only a few yards away, so I stomped on the gas and the car lurched forward. We darted beneath the green light to catch up before he escaped. I honked the horn and he leered over his shoulder at me. His expression changed from carefree to a clearly panicking state.

As my vehicle careened around the corner, my daughter’s hands dug into the armrest on the door and the seat beneath her, pushing back. She lifted her head for a moment when the horn went off and then closed her eyes. If her eyes squinted any tighter, her eyebrows would have tickled her cheeks.

“What did he do, Paisley?” I asked, wondering what the chances were we would find him so easily? “Tell me!” Should I continue going to the police station and risk him getting away, even after the long judicial process? With him right in front of me could I ensure justice was – I cranked the wheel hard right, and he could see me over his left shoulder. My mind was reeling as I focused on his lips, imagining them touching my daughter with his long, thin fingers that gripped the bike’s handlebars. Those same fingers held my baby’s body down as she cried, too far away for me to hear her. The smell of the animal flooded my memory and I felt my nostrils flare, recalling the curdling scent of the room I’d found her.

I pulled halfway on the sidewalk beside him at the next light, pressing the button to roll my daughter’s window partway down. “You son of a bitch,” I spit the words out clearly and threw the car into park, rolling the window up and throwing my door open with a pop. The intensity of disgust burned in my cheeks, and I was sure that any moment my head would explode like a bottle rocket. When I got out, I half expected the rain to sizzle on my heated face.

The man’s cocky smile disappeared as he pedaled furiously racing along the sidewalk, out from between the buildings and toward the city bridge. If he made it over the bridge, into the downtown area, he’d get away for sure. The traffic lights flash so often it seems the cars are stopped more than they are moving. I had to get him before he slipped in between the shadows of the tall buildings and dumpsters, blending and leaving me behind to fight the parking lot.

The self-centered pedophile extended his legs to stand on the pedals as he pumped with all his strength. I jumped back in the car and slammed my door closed, turning to Paisley, “Don’t you worry, I’ll get him, sweetheart.”

Her tiny body cringed, stiffening and shaking. I gave the wheel a hard crank to the left and shot off the sidewalk toward the bridge with him in my sites. “Hold on Paisley,” I commanded and pressed down hard on the gas pedal, aimed at him.

The bumper clipped the bike’s rear tire hurling the rider on his bike down the side of the road into a stretch of weeds. Without wasting a breath, I bounced up onto the sidewalk. The wheels amply cleared the curb and slid to a halt.

My daughter huddled tightly with her head down to her knees and her hands covering her ears, silencing the rain drumming against the window. When I opened my door, her face snapped up. “Please, don’t leave me,” she begged with her eyebrows making a teepee above her nose. Paisley reached out and grabbed my arm. “What if he comes back while you’re gone?”

“Paisley,” I soothed her, “I saw him fall over the side. I just want to make sure he’s—he’s not coming back, that’s all.” I instructed her to keep the doors closed. The automatic locks slid down and I shoved the keys into my front pocket. With my palm pressed to my mouth, I drew it away blowing a kiss, but she missed it. She’d ducked her head as soon as the door closed. I could only imagine the fear of being alone after such a devastating event, but I intended on ensuring he never did again.

The whole thing with the judicial system sucks. I can imagine these pedophiles laughing as they exit after serving two years and getting out for good behavior. They wave good-naturedly to their friends and wonder when they’ll see them again.

Over the railing, I could make out the bicycle lying on top of the rocks by the river. It was mangled pretty badly. One wheel rotated in the air and the other had been ripped from the fork. Probably landed in the water and got pulled away. The weeds poked up from the ground, waving the long strands of grass in the air ever so slightly in the rain. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement nearby.

“Don’t you move!” I commanded him without a second thought and practically toppled over careening down the side, over rocks and anthills. I hightailed it over to where the loser was curled up in a fetal position. Fear drenched his face beneath untidy hair as he searched for me out the corner of his eye. A trickle of blood dripped down his forehead as rain rinsed the blood away in rivulets. He blinked and tried to wipe the moisture away with his hand to no avail.

“Wait! Wait, just tell me what you want,” he begged desperately. The scenario was certainly not one he’d ever considered himself to be in. He’s more used to playing commander in control. I felt powerful with this scum at my mercy.

“Grovel, you piece of shit,” I spat at him bending over the top of him with my hands on my knees. “Let’s see how you like it.”

His eyes shifted back and forth and he bit his lip. “Why are you doing this?” The dirty hand approached his eye and wiped it again as he lay on one elbow across the rocks.

“You know damned well why,” I said between gritted teeth. “Do you have any kids—any kids of your own?”

“N-no. I d-don’t have any kids.” His eyes widened and his legs barely moved. One of them was twisted on backward and blood drenched the rocks beneath it. Saying it was broken was an understatement. “I don’t have any kids,” he repeated, oblivious to the rock I’d picked up and rotated in my hand, feeling the sharp edges against my skin. The rock was about twice the size of my palm and cold—as chilly as his heart.

“That’s why you’ll never understand,” I screamed at him as I held fast to the rock and brought it down on the side of his head. A sickening smack rang out that seemed to echo under the bridge, but I couldn’t stop myself. I hammered the rock several more times until all that was left was a mangled semblance of a man from the chest down. I stood up tall and threw the rock as hard as I could toward his crotch.

I was shaking. I was so inundated with sweat, adrenaline, and relief that all hit me at once. But then an earth-shattering squeal echoed inside my car. The cry was Paisley’s. I hoped she hadn’t seen what I did to the degenerate. I had to come up with a believable story and quick.

As I neared the car, the rain ceased almost immediately as if sensing my presence and that the deed was done. I couldn’t see her inside. “Paisley?” I called. I could hear her muffled cries and realized she was on the floor in the back seat. “What’s wrong?” I asked her and prayed to the gods she wasn’t frightened of me.

“I saw him!” she said with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I can explain…” I put the key in the lock and turned it, popping the door open.

“No, no! While you were gone. He walked right past the car!” she was tripping over her words and taking in large gasps of air between them. “Where were you? Why did you leave me?”

Stunned, I shook my head. “What do you mean he walked past the car?”

Paisley pulled herself up with a lot of deliberation and poked her head between the front seats. Up ahead was a mail truck pulled off the side of the road with his hazard lights on. “The mailman?” I asked her baffled.

“He’s not a real mailman,” she argued with tears streaming. “Look!” Her arm shot out between the seats pointing at a slightly overweight man who’d lost most of his hair to faulty DNA as he kicked one of his tires. He had a sub-sandwich in one hand and a soda in the other as he made his way around his truck, checking out the clouds above him as if trying to determine if the rain had stopped for good.

“That’s a mailman,” I clarified for her. Her face drew all the composure she had left and she looked me straight in the eye. “That’s the man who hurt me.”

Could she have been mistaken before? I almost peered over the cliff at the bicyclist lying on the rocks below, his head caved in, but I couldn’t bear to see the remains. Perhaps it was just a bad dream and now I’m awake.

I stuck my knee on my seat and reached between the seats to push Paisley’s hair back from her brow. “Honey, you need to be certain. You need to swear to God that’s him, okay? No mistakes.”

“Mommy, I’d know him anywhere. He hurt me!” she said, and the tears started again.

When I turned back, the postal vehicle was gone and a couple was coming toward us with a dog on a leash. “It’s going to be okay,” I tried soothing her, but her attention was on the couple with the dog, more specifically, the man.

“Don’t let him get me. Please, don’t let him get me again, Mommy!” Paisley’s eyes were focused on the gentleman holding the woman’s hand. When I did nothing, she whimpered and begged curling up on the floor of the backseat.

Paisley shrieked all the way to the police station where I reported seeing a man murdered at the side of the road. I explained the murderer’s friend, who’d assaulted my daughter and killed his friend, got away.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/06/07/the-good-the-bad-and-the-deadly/feed/0The Good the Bad and the DangerousthefilmsceneTurn Up the Crazy!https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/turn-up-the-crazy/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/turn-up-the-crazy/#respondFri, 20 May 2016 22:36:48 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=599]]>“Just who do you think you are?” the woman’s voice sounded panicked and desperate as she whispered in my ear. “Whoever you are, you didn’t come prepared.”

In my twenties, lying face down on the sandy brown and white Berber carpet of the living room, the woman on my back dug her knees into my spine. I managed to hold my tongue, but the gasps of confusion escaped in huffs between my silent tears. My ribs resisted her weight so my lungs could suck in air, but they were losing the battle.

I rolled my head to the side and struggled to get a look at the woman on top of me. I just needed to see her face, but my neck wouldn’t turn far enough. Giving up, I positioned my chin on the floor. The weight of this 30-something-year-old piece of crap was crippling and surprisingly heavy considering her size.

A small pink shoe with Velcro strapped onto a tiny foot extended in front of me. I followed the denim-clad leg to a white T-shirt. At least it had been white once, but now it’s gushing blood. The soggy mop of long blond hair spilled over narrow shoulders and off to the side of a small, lifeless body. A little girl’s body.

I cranked my head to the left coming full-on with a pair of still gray eyes. They stared over a straight nose and parted lips. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. A trail of blood escaped his mouth, pooling on the floor in front of him. Disgusted, I squinted my eyes closed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not to me.

“Any last words, bitch?” The voice behind me cracked, breathing heavily in between. Her voice curved up wickedly on the edges like a happy lunatic. Even without seeing her, I had no doubt she was crazy, and there would be no stopping her.

“I remember!” I exclaimed, too late.

A gun clicked behind my head.

Silence. Blackness.

A clock ticked quietly and methodically in the distance, and I opened my eyes. The high ceiling above gleamed with white recessed squares and mahogany wood molding. I blinked several times and gently shook my head, pushing up on an elbow. My body stretched down the length of the chaise lounge. The pantsuit I’d had on earlier had been replaced by a V-neck pleated jumpsuit of turquoise. Decorative bangles dangled on my right wrist and a Cartier jeweled watch embellished the left. I was styling. Across from me, an older, no-nonsense woman watched as if she expected me to break out in a song and dance for her entertainment.

“Feeling all better now?” she crooned, her coral-colored lips spreading to expose white teeth in a demeaning smile.

“Better?” I questioned. “I feel okay.”

“Quite the episode, wasn’t it?” the woman finished off.

“And you are?” I shifted my weight to straighten a bit taller, ensuring I wouldn’t be mistaken for a weakling.

“You can call me Ms. Thrope.”

“Ms. Thrope,” I slowly repeated after her with much deliberation. The woman nodded politely. “So, what’s the deal?” I swung my legs off the side of the chaise and straightened my outfit. I liked the Gucci leather boots cladding my calves. “Like, these aren’t my clothes. Both of us know that.” I shrugged.

Ms. Thrope paced back and forth in front, no doubt pleased with the reaction. “You’re dead. Where did you think you were, your apartment?” A crazy giggle reflected from her throat. “You’ll never be back in that sad little dust-collecting corner of the world again.”

“Thank God,” I said, as I stood from the lounge, a tiny bit feeble. I steadied myself, “This place is lot less distracting to be in.” I stood and strolled around the spacious room, dragging my fingertips across the mahogany wood mantle that twisted around the fireplace. The ceiling’s chandelier cast pastel colors that danced across the walls in sparkling patterns. “Is this the only room?”

“Of course, this isn’t the only room. Why would someone here need to share private facilities such as restroom and sleeping quarters?” Ms. Thrope pranced past on thin legs clad in a white pantsuit and flat, sensible shoes that matched. Her white hair, cut just above her collar, lined her jaw with jagged edges. Although she wore no makeup, her cheeks hinted a bit of pink and her lashes framed blue eyes against pale skin. “Your place has everything you could need for comfort. Agreed?”

A blank and non-emotional blink as Ms. Thrope twirled around in a snobbish fashion and lifted her chin. “Yes, you’re dead.”

My mind was muddled unable to recall—I couldn’t remember anything. Perhaps that was part of dying. Nonetheless, I made the most of the situation. After all, dead or not, I was still a hot biscuit. “And everything in here is mine? All mine? I don’t need to share with anyone?”

Ms. Thorpe allowed a throaty laugh to escape. “It’s all yours.” I turned to tour the sizable pad and took everything in from the huge bedroom with a four-post mahogany bed draped in cream chiffon to the facilities. A large marble shower with a matching bath released echoes like a chamber choir with each step.

I swear my mouth gaped open more than it was closed. If I’d been camping, I’d have eaten a shitload of mosquitos. I had the sense of wonderment a child might experience on the first visit to the zoo. “I’m dead,” I murmured, still not fully coming to terms with it. “Who knew being dead would be so incredibly delicious?”

“Speaking of delicious,” the older woman rotated and lifted her head a notch, “Did you notice there’s no kitchen?”

“No kitchen?” The most absurd thing ever. “How am I supposed to eat without a kitchen?”

“That’s the best part,” Ms. Thrope’s cheeks pulled up in a grin. “Eating isn’t essential.”

Of course, if not alive, why would I need to eat? A sort of message passed between us inaudibly. With a chuckle, Ms. Thrope tossed in, “Remember, you’re dead? But you are more than welcome to call service and have them bring you consumables for the pleasure of tantalizing your taste buds. Just press 0.” She indicated the phone with a touch of her hand next to the lamp. Ms. Thrope paused and inventoried the room. She sweetly asked, “Any other questions?”

I strolled past the cabinet beneath the giant television screen hanging flush on the wall. Inside, I found a state of the art sound system. The bar at the back of the room situated with alcohol, mixers, and everything necessary to create the perfect nightcap appeared the perfect escape for anyone who couldn’t fix her life. My lips stretched across my face, nearly touching my earlobes.

“The only thing better than this would be a totally built guy who’s into me.” I stopped moving and verbally prodded her for an answer. “Is that asking too much?”

The older woman scoffed. Her shoulders rose and fell with a subtle shake of her head. “Nope, but I’m glad you asked me before I left. Once I’m gone, we’re done.” A couple of seconds later, the bedroom door opened and a tall, dark-haired man with chiseled features appeared. He was wearing a long-sleeved button-up tee and nice slacks with perfectly coiffed hair and a bit of shadow across his jaw. He was so fiery he provided enough heat for a naked Eskimo family.

Stunned, I flipped my face between the stud and the host, whispering, “Is he mine too?”

The man stepped forward, extending his hand. “The name is…”

“Nigel?” A shot in the dark. I thought I’d captured a foreign accent.

“Yes, Nigel.” His broad smile brightened the room and contrasted against his tan skin. The white linen shirt stirred as his hand grabbed mine and pulled my fingers to his lips, planting a delicate kiss on my knuckles.

This guy possessed power. I nearly passed out and only wondered what his lips would feel like pressed against my own—and other places. His manly smell mingled in the air under my nostrils, and the passion of his warm breath stirred the tiny hairs on my cheeks. When he removed his hand, mine lingered in the air.

“I suppose that’s all?” Ms. Thrope asked. She poked between us delivering a small business card into my suspended hand. Enthralled with Nigel, I didn’t look but delivered the card to the end table. “Uh, hmm,” Ms. Thrope cleared her throat. “I suppose I’ll be on my way then.” Placing her hand on the door, she delivered a final once-over and left Nigel and me engaged in flirty conversation.

I flopped onto the couch and patted the cushion beside me, hoping he had the same idea that danced through my head. Nigel sank into the cushions and draped one arm across the back. His other large hand cupped my thigh. The attraction he controlled was startling as we stared into each other’s eyes. Forcing my eyes away, my cheeks blushed and I switched my gaze to the floor. “What should we do?” I asked, hoping he had some terribly fantastic idea.

“What do you want to do?” his voice melted like butter dripping from his tongue, a bit raspy and with his loin-tingling accent.

Nervously tucking a lock behind my ear, I snickered, “I don’t know. How about this?” I leaned over and put a hand on each side of his face pressing my hungry lips against his. He obliged, devouring my lips. Moaning, I fell against the couch and wrapped my legs around his waist. I felt as if I could entirely consume him.
The following morning, the first thing I saw was Nigel’s perfect face, his stubble growing heavier around the underside of his chin. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” I giddily whispered, pinching myself to ensure it wasn’t a dream.

“You’re dead,” Ms. Thrope’s voice echoed from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. “You’re dead.”

The white linen sheets draping my body caused little resistance, and I easily tossed them to the side. Nigel stirred and rolled over. His light eyes brightened the room. With his thick and sexy accent, he whispered sensually, “You want more?”

“More?” It was as if he’d asked a child if she wanted more chocolate sprinkles on her ice cream. Of course, I wanted more! But somehow, there was more to this than having sex 24/7 with a gorgeous body that knew all the right bells to chime. Something was wrong.

“You’re dead,” the voice repeated from the walls of the living area. I shot straight up one the bed, alert.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Nigel, who pulled himself upright. He shrugged and shook his head.

My eyes shot across the room to the mahogany bureau. The twisting wood held a large mirror stretched across the back. The wood matched the fireplace in the living room, like all the trimmings and accessories throughout the quarters.

I slipped my robe on and fastened the belt, cautiously tiptoeing into the adjoining room. I could feel Nigel’s attention focused hot on my ass like a sizzling branding iron. I wished he would stop for a moment.

I crept across the floor toward the front door, and placed my hand on the knob, curling my fingers around the pearl-finished surface. Twisting the knob to the right, I gave it a firm tug, but nothing happened. The door didn’t even rattle. The entire thing was some sort of figment of my imagination.

I crossed the room to open the window. Grabbing the chords dangling at the side I jerked on the strings. They soared up with nothing but a plain cream colored wall behind them.

“What?” I flipped around, back against the wall, and slid to the floor in defeat.

Nigel stood poised in the doorway wearing a towel around his waist. Normally, my feet would move without thinking, and the towel would be gone. He coaxed me saying, “You want to come back to bed?”

“No, I don’t want to ‘come back to bed,” I poorly imitated Nigel’s voice and added. “I have to figure this out.”

“Should I go shower then?” he asked. With a flip of my wrist, he picked up on my clear disinterest. Nigel disappeared, and the shower in the bathroom rang in the distance with his intermittent singing. Climbing to my feet, I held onto the wall.

“You’re dead,” Ms. Thrope’s voice cried out again, but this time, the voice was closer, shifting the small hairs on my neck. I flipped around to look behind me. With furrowed brows, I strolled to the table and viewed the shiny black business card Ms. Thrope left.

Across the top, in silver letters, the word “Ms. Anne Thrope” with a ten-digit hyphenated number beneath it. “Misanthrope. Of course, I should have asked her first name. Perhaps it would have dawned on me she didn’t like humans, with her cold and pompous attitude, but I doubt it.”

An eloquent phone set on the table beside the chaise gathered my attention. Clutching the card, I wandered over with trembling fingers and picked up the receiver. I tucked the receiver between my shoulder and cheek. I dialed the number and waited.

The line only rang one time. An automated message picked up. The voice of Misanthrope spilled from the receiver. “You’re no doubt asking yourself about now what’s truly going on and why you’re here. Don’t panic because I’m about to alleviate your frustration, or rather, allow you the tools to recall your situation.”

My body sank on the chaise, and I continued listening intently. “Look to the liquor cabinet and locate the bottle labeled La Vie Renaissance. When your talents prove useless in figuring out why you’re here, have a drink and relax. You’ll remember.” The line cut flat.

Resting the phone in the cradle, I arose from the lounge. A collection of bottles were cozily positioned on the rack beside the television. The full liquor shelf displayed a humongous variety from Bordeaux to champagne lining the shelves. One by one, I pulled the bottles out and examined the labels, searching for La Vie Renaissance. The last bottle I removed was the one I needed. I briskly unwrapped the top. The securely inserted cork resisted. Despite my efforts to pry it out with bare hands, the cork refused to budge.

“Bottle opener, bottle opener…” I swept the room, and Nigel appeared in a white robe as if his devilish grin would disguise him. He waltzed passed, grabbing the drawers beneath the bottles, and pulled them open one after another.

“When searching for drinking accompaniment, I hope you’ll think of me,” Nigel smiled, opened the last drawer and withdrew a corkscrew. His beautifully manicured hand held the contraption out. My hand accepted the opener and a projection of electricity struck me as if Nigel was too powerful to contain the energy alone. I drew toward him as powerless as a paperclip to an oversized magnet. Nigel yanked the corkscrew from the air and tucked it behind his back. “In exchange for a kiss?”

I smirked and tilted my head, meeting his lips with my freshly moistened ones. Both of us closed our eyes while my hand embraced his neck. I slid one hand down gathering the corkscrew from him. Breaking the suction of his mouth, I teased him by dangling the corkscrew in the air and spinning away.

The corkscrew screamed a few times and popped out of the bottle. Holding the opening beneath my nose, I enjoyed the aroma with closed eyes. Exhaling, I snatched a flute from the counter and poured a glass. Nigel eagerly awaited his serving.

I handed the half-full flute to Nigel and poured one for me. I waited for his reaction making sure it was okay to drink. Nigel licked his lips and made a pop sound, saying, “Wow! The smoothest champagne I’ve ever had. Try it.” He took another swallow, set his glass down and meandered toward me with the leer of a gremlin and opened arms. “Time to turn up the crazy!”

My reflection in the mirror behind Nigel, displayed undeniable beauty, as I tipped my head back, pouring the smooth and fruity tasting champagne down my throat. I lifted my head, and the reflection no longer resembled the bombshell, but a half-petrified skeleton with fragments of flesh hanging from the bone. One eye socket was empty and the remaining hair protruded as threads from a bare sheet. The room spun slowly at first, gaining speed with each rotation. Everything became an ugly meld of sharpened colors as I collapsed in a heap on the floor.

I opened my eyes, no longer alone. Nigel no longer stared at me stunned. The gorgeous white and mahogany room no longer surrounded me. I stood on a front porch and pushed the doorbell. A quick shot around the neighborhood signified it as upper class surrounded by loving families. Children on skateboards and bicycles teeheed as they roll past the house when the front door opens.

“Hello, can I help you?” a thirty-something-year-old woman courteously asked with a welcoming smile. Pinned up blond hair trailed down the side, and she tucked the strand behind her ear. The sweaty towel draped over her shoulders, combined with droplets running down her forehead, suggested an interrupted workout.

“Yes,” I replied, “I’m here to speak to your husband. Is he home?” I moved my hand to a secure bulge at my waist behind me. The blouse, a satiny blue Christian Dior with black slacks and low pumps fit perfectly. With my red hair cinched back in a French braid, a few curls teased at the nape of my neck.

The woman doesn’t speak, but her mouth turns down a bit at the edges. Vivaciously green eyes roll up and down my body as if sizing up the competition.

“He isn’t expecting me. I’m from the office, and we’ve had a major security breach. We think he may have an idea of who’s behind it. I just want to ask him a few questions. Nothing serious for him, but I pity the person in charge of the discrepancy. We always get our man.” I winked at her and offered a half-smile with one side of my mouth.

“Sure,” the woman said, “Let me get Paul, but you can come in and wait if you like.” She stood aside and pulled the door open revealing a spacious entryway and a vibrant living room. Leading back to the family room, she motioned toward a chair. “I’ll be right back.”

I settled down on a high back chair across from a leather sofa decorated with woven pillows. A grand piano in the corner of the room posed as an exquisite conversation piece if nothing more. The walls, covered in photos of the happy family, displayed a successful father, obedient wife, and charming young daughter at a dance recital. The girl looked to be about eight-years-old and the perfect genetic combination of her father and mother with blond hair, sparkling eyes, and a good neighbor grin.

The woman returned and opened the fridge in the adjacent room. “Would you care for something to drink? I’ve got to get a glass of water,” she said.

The woman shrugged and poured herself a glass of ice water. Popping a lemon in it, she planted herself on the couch. Shifting the sweating glass of ice water to her left hand, she extended her right. “Jane,” she pleasantly offered. I could tell she was trying to make nice after her initially rude welcome.

“Jennifer,” I said, “But my friends call me Jen.” I poked my hand out to accept hers and she leaned across to shake it. She pumped my arm up and down, and I indicated the photos on the wall. “Cute family.”

“Yes,” Jane agreed. “We’ve had our scrapes and bruises like all families, but we’ve managed to survive. Knock on wood.” She snickered and knocked on the Mahogany table between us.

I stood and coasted to the wall, admiring the photos. Two large picture windows reflected over the enormous stone patio in the back. Tan cashmere-textured dupioni silk curtains draped down each side of the windows with white sheers between them. Each side anchored with a tie, and the hems settled ever so lightly on the floor’s surface.

“What a perfect family,” I admired. Jane’s cubes created a tinkling in the glass when she stood joining me.

Jane pointed to a photo and explained the family vacation to Hawaii they were celebrating. I nodded my head while I wandered over to the window. But instead of being caught up in her story, I snatched the drape tie from the wall and drifted back over to my host. Jane laughed as she recanted a memory. In a sudden movement, I looped the fabric around her throat, twisting strands and ripping out golden threads of hair. Her tumbler smacked the floor, sending water and ice cubes splashing about our feet across the carpet fibers.

I managed to tighten the cord while Jane’s fingers clawed frantically at her neck until she fell to the floor like a bundle of wet laundry. A door down the hallway squeaked open, and footsteps approached as I gawked at the woman’s limp body. Her eyes were closed and her lips relaxed.

Paul entered the room but stopped when he witnessed his wife’s crumpled body by the piano. “Who in the hell are you?” His breathing quickened, and confusion set in as he lunged at me, missing by a landslide when I casually stepped to the side.

“I have a proposition for you,” I had to laugh at his clumsiness. “If you value your life—“

Paul didn’t listen but changed directions. His gray eyes sought a target beneath his dark hair and full brows. Determination and vengeance flashed across his features. Stealing a confirming glance at his motionless wife, he pounced at me again. I knew I needed to threaten him to get him to stop and listen.

I removed the gun from my waistband and pointed it directly at him with a steady hand, proving this wasn’t my virgin quest. “Please don’t make me kill you,” I warned in a calm voice. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I’m just here for the money.”

A panicked child screamed, dashing toward her father. Before I was able to react, a flash erupted from the muzzle of the gun. Everything slowed to the pace of molasses, and all I could do was watch the events unravel before me.

The little girl never saw it coming and had no time to react. Still, I watched the bullet cruise through the air and penetrate her neck exiting the other side. Her tiny body punched to the side and a torrent of crimson liquid exploded across the wall.

Paul’s wide-eyed expression followed his daughter to the floor; her golden streams chased her head to the carpet and bounced, settling. A loud and reverberating grumble of a grizzly bear pierced my ears, and a phase of hatred lit Paul’s face. With a spring, his body hurled itself in my direction, and the gun sounded again, blowing his shirt open. Particles of flesh ruptured through the air followed by a spray of angry blood. Paul’s face remained determined before collapsing inches away on the floor where it softened to that of a patron awaiting a bus.

“Why did you have to come at me? Why couldn’t you just let it go and save your daughter?” I spat into the lifeless room. I let the gun fall to the floor with a slight rattle. I’d never shot anyone before, and thought I was prepared if it came down to it, but I’d never anticipated encountering a child. Covering my eyes with my hands and rubbing them with my fingertips, I hoped everything would be gone when I looked again. But nothing moved. Everything was motionless.

I needed to get out of here. Surely someone would have detected the shots and called the cops by now.

I bent to pick up the gun, it was no longer where I’d dropped it. A woman’s unnerving scream echoed through my ears, and a body thudded hard against my back, knocking me to the floor where I landed on my stomach. Stretched out on the carpet ahead were the pink Velcro shoes at the bottom of a pair of jeans.

For the briefest of moments, Nigel flickered in and raised his glass. “Turn up the crazy!”

“Any last words, bitch?” The voice cracked behind my head, breathing heavily. The woman’s voice smiled like a lunatic. Even without seeing her, I knew there was no stopping her.

“I remember!” I exclaimed, too late.

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/05/20/turn-up-the-crazy/feed/0Turn up the crazythefilmsceneVirginity to the Apocalypsehttps://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/04/30/virginity-to-the-apocalypse/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/04/30/virginity-to-the-apocalypse/#respondSat, 30 Apr 2016 07:19:40 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=570]]>Although I enjoy allowing my imagination occasional free reign of my writing as a way of escape, I can honestly say the value I generally have in science fiction typically doesn’t fall into stories such as Virginity to the Apocalypse. However, my firm belief is growth stems from experiments, trial and error. My hope is that this attempt at sci-fi falls more under the heading of trial since my new awareness that the last week of April constitutes the week of aliens. I don’t get it but won’t fight it. Here you go–Welcome to Virginity to the Apocalypse, and feel free to leave constructive criticism.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here!” Eden’s shoulders lift with excitement. Without missing a beat, Tyler climbs out of the driver’s side and winks over his shoulder, kicking the door closed. She waits for her new husband to open hers and throws her arms around his neck. He scoops her into his arms. “Woo-hoo!” she cheers but settles her head against his shoulder. “Honestly, although I’m positively in love with you, I can’t believe our engagement was so short. It’s crazy!”

The hotel trees notify everyone of the glorious spring day with the birth of a new marriage by showering apple blossoms on the couple as they pass beneath. The petals fall across Eden’s glowing face all the way to the porch. With an easy twist of his wrist, Tyler pops the door open carrying his petite bride inside and kicking it shut behind him. “I guess we’re the lucky ones,” he said, “We were fortunate enough to figure out our compatibility faster than other couples. What a blessing.”

With their faces inches apart, he dips his head and plants a soft kiss on her lips. Tiny arms tighten around his neck and pull him in with a hungry embrace. “I can’t believe I’m actually Mrs. Tyler Harris,” she said trailing her finger down the side of his face. “Maybe you should pinch me and reassure my virginity isn’t going to an apocalypse.”

Tyler laughs. “Six months, six days, and—“ he sets her on the bed and holds his watch up. The sun peeks through the blinds, reflecting off the face. “—just short of six hours since we met. This has to be the real thing, baby.”

Eden stretches out across the bed, pulling the long wedding dress up to reveal her long legs, and pushes her knees apart. She reveals the flushed face of a new bride apprehensive to play out the evening’s events. “I’ll be right back,” Tyler nonchalantly rattles off as he closes the bathroom door from the other side.

“Tyler,” she moans, “I’m trying my best to come to terms with this moment—the moment that’ll change my life. Now you’re making me self-conscious.”

The bathroom door swings open with the bulb burning from inside, casting Tyler in a naked silhouette. His hands stretch across the doorframe, one on each side. With his legs together, he appears a peculiar crucifix in the doorway, with broad shoulders and short-cropped hair.

“Ooh, much better,” Eden coos, throwing her head back. “I guess I’m not going to be left alone after all, am I?”

“Nope,” Tyler replies, lunging toward her. His hands pull from the doorway revealing the cake knife from their ceremony an hour earlier. The baby’s breath and ribbons were still wound tight around the handle. With one fatal swoop, the knife slices through her throat, a stream of life bursts from her neck in a receding pulsation followed by a gurgle and a gasp. The once active body falls against the background of the bed tightening and goes limp.

Eden’s doe brown eyes stared directly through him, and her lips curled up at the corners. Holding himself above her, confused, he does a quick a double take, but her cupid bow disappears. Slightly parted they remain in a relaxed gap. Perfectly coifed blond locks twist up, framing her face while blossoming fresh daisies surround her. The purity of a virgin.

In addition to admitting her ignorance several times when asked, he discovered a lot of facts and innuendos left her confused. While it was evident Eden had the overprotective parents she’d claimed, Tyler probably did her a huge favor by putting her out of her misery. After all, he knew no one remaining a virgin through even one year of college. At twenty-two, Eden had been long overdue. On the bright side, finding a virgin wasn’t the easiest task for him. His yearlong search before finding her in the corner of the library proved to be nothing short of a miracle. With a pencil neatly tucked behind her ear, eyes roaming casually through magazines as she flipped the pages, discovering her naivety didn’t take long.

“Exactly six-six-six,” he said, verifying correctness with his watch. The brothers will be stoked hearing of his sacrifice to join their group. Glancing at his watch, he says, “Drake should be here in about half an hour. That gives us a tiny bit of time to at least do some exploring through the untamed wilderness.”

Using his muscular arms to push himself off the bed, he discards his clothes in no time. Tyler neatly drapes the slacks over the back of a chair and positions his shirt over one of those permanent hangers in the closet. With a deep breath, his wife has his attention, and he crosses the room, gazing at her. “To a new beginning,” he whispers.

Stealing a glimpse, ensuring the time remaining, a faint glimmer behind his wrist captures his attention. Eden moving proves impossible because, with the gaping hole in her neck, she’s clearly deceased. There’s no way with so much blood saturating the bed she could still be alive. But again—the glint light blinks from the depths of her throat, behind her tongue.

Unable to determine where the flash originates, Tyler scopes out the room searching for the source. But the only hint of light shines through a tiny part in the drapes, off to the side and nowhere near the correct angle to reflect in her throat.

Crouching down at the bottom of the bed, Tyler resembles a tiger preparing to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. Watching. Waiting. Eden’s chin gently lifts, narrowing the gap between her full lips.

Tyler’s watch reveals he’s been squatting at the foot of the bed for nearly ten minutes. The brothers will be here soon, and he needs to be certain she’s dead even though the gash parts exposing her throat’s meaty flesh.

Rising to his feet, Tyler shifts over her, positioning a hand on either side of her head and bends over her face. As time creeps by, the blushed color of his bride drains, leaving her skin pallid on the surface with a porcelain sheen like a precious China doll. “A brand new beginning,” he says, licking his lips and drawing his hand to her chin. Tyler gently probes between her lips with his index finger.

Her soft lips make him wish he didn’t have to kill her so soon, that he’d be able to feel them touching his body. But weighing out being a husband with a nagging wife, which she would most certainly have become, or initiation into the brotherhood, the choice is clear and concise. He slips a second and third finger in and pries her jaw downward, peering into the dark cavity. There, the shiny light blinks behind her teeth through her throat’s opening.

A high-pitched, air-piercing screech erupts from inside the back of her head. Tyler pulls away from the corpse of his dead wife, shaking his head. A bright red flash bursts from her orifice, blinding him and causing him to fall back off the bed, tumbling onto the floor.

In a daze, a looming shadow washes over him, and he fights to get the image in focus. By the time he gets his wits about him, it’s too late. The red body of energy hovers above him, diving in and inundating his face with its body. The beginnings of a scream squeak out as the redness suffocates the noise, closing in across the contours of his face. The room rattles with energy, threatening an explosion of teetering lamps, shaking appliances, and a vibrating bed. Almost as suddenly as the commotion started, it releases with red light absorbing into his pores and causing his skin to glow. Pulsating, the luminosity diminishes as swiftly as it arrived.

A brief, but hard knock erupts. The front door creaks open, and a crop of curly brown hair pokes through the doorway. “Hey, Tyler. Where are you, man?” he asks entering. A couple of others follow him in, and the last guy closes the door, locking it behind him. “Where are you, man? Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

A small splinter of light spills from beneath the closed bathroom door. The three men circle the bed, peeking like the dwarfs around Snow White. Eden’s empty eyes stare into the vast void of nothingness, but her loveliness remains.

“It’s about time,” Tyler announces, emerging from the bathroom.

“What the hell did you do to her?” the leader of the group, Drake, inquires. “Her head is practically cut clean off. What am I suppose to do with this?”

Tyler chuckles, placing his hands on his hips and a distinct red light blinks in the back of his throat. With his laughter booming even louder, his comrades stand bug-eyed in amazement. The brilliance grows brighter and drowns the room in an irreverent crimson blaze.

From the parking lot, a minute slice of red reflects for an instant through the drapes. For the briefest of moments, a sound almost echoed across the parking lot—but was cut off as quickly as it started.

A hiss engulfs the surrounding area, almost calling like a sigh with the most distinct sound of, “To a new beginning.”

]]>https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/04/30/virginity-to-the-apocalypse/feed/0thefilmsceneVirginity ApocalypseWhat’s a Mother to do?https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/04/20/whats-a-mother-to-do/
https://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/2016/04/20/whats-a-mother-to-do/#respondWed, 20 Apr 2016 01:48:18 +0000http://mjbrewerwriter.wordpress.com/?p=497]]>“Chase, open the door!” I hate when he goes into the bathroom with his cell phone. In a one-bathroom house, a teen boy cannot disappear behind the door and be expected to be seen within half an hour.

“Just a minute,” the answer comes back tainted with a barbed tongue. “I barely got in here, and I’ve got a load to dump.”

“Bull,” I retorted. “You’re talking to that girl again on your phone, Chase. I’m not an idiot. The only thing that pisses me off more than you pulling this crap is thinking I’ll buy it.”

The toilet flushes on the opposite side of the door, and the water sprays into the basin, full blast. When the water shuts off, I hear him rustling around inside. Finally, the door opens, and he appears surprised to see me as his hand reaches behind his back.

“Give it to me,” I demanded with my hands on my hips and my toe tapping.

“What?” He pulls back as if I was threatening him.

“The phone.”

For a moment, he pauses as if contemplating whether or not he’ll get away with his crime, but then he pulls the device from his back pocket and hands the small black phone over.

I don’t understand why he thinks he can get one over on me. Doesn’t he understand where his genetics derive from and that I’ve done everything he’s thought of up to this point in his life and then some?

With his head tilted downward and his eyes occasionally peeking from under his brow, I can tell there’s something wrong going on. “What’s your password?” I ask him. Realizing the situation will become more involved if he refuses, the digits spill from his lips and I poke them into the keypad. Scrolling through the texts, I don’t see anything more than idle chitchat, but his face expresses grave concern, so I scroll up. There it is. “I fucking love you so much!” the fourteen-year-old girl had typed. And he had sent a smiley face.

“Is this the girl that was in the paper last month?” I held the phone toward him. “Caught up in that party scene?”

A brief silence broke as he licked his lips. “That was a misunderstanding. It wasn’t her.”

“Wasn’t her?” I laugh. “She was caught in an abandoned train car with two boys and nobody claimed it was rape. What can I gather from that?”

“It was her drugs, er, her prescription. She ran out. She’s supposed to be on antidepressants, but her mom didn’t get her refill.”

My eyes turned a loop in my skull. “Oh please. Let’s put the responsibility where it lies.” I hold out the screen of the phone toward him and say, “Here, she tells you to lie to me. And she tells you to say you’re studying at the library with Brock but to come to her house instead.”

Shamefully, he drops his head. “Okay, she’s a liar.”

“A liar?” I can’t hold back the giggles as they erupt from my chest. “Chase, she’s a slut. Eventually, she’s going down, and she’ll take you to Hell with her. You think she cares?”

Cold air filled the room, and Chase grabbed at the phone, but I was faster than him. I snap the phone into my stomach where he would need to fight for it, but he didn’t. I felt the phone vibrate and flipped it open to see the text.

“Here’s my address,” the message read, “Sneak out of your house tonight and come to my bedroom window. I’ll be watching for you at 9:00.”

I repeated the text, “Wrong number” and glanced at my young son who glared back. “I suppose I’ll need to make things a little uncomfortable until reality kicks in. You’d better hope that if that girl gets pregnant she doesn’t blame you. Meanwhile, what illnesses could she pass to you? You’d die if you had an inkling as to how many there are out there. This whole situation is repulsive to me.”

I didn’t want to see the expression on his face, so I left without making eye contact. The phone slid into my pocket. Shuffling into the kitchen, I started dinner.

A knock at the door startled me, and I turned to get it, but Chase beat me. He was peeking through the peephole, as he whispered, “Shit.”

“Who is it? Is it her?” I asked with a ladle in my hand. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but don’t worry. I’ll tell her she has to leave.”

“You bet your butt you will,” I said. I was tempted to stay and eavesdrop, but I figured I’d rained all over his parade for the day. Explaining to anyone about his lunatic mother’s rampage wouldn’t suffice, even for her. Some thoughts are better left alone.

Chase stepped outside the door, so I returned to the kitchen and stirred the spaghetti sauce. Even with the aroma as robust as it was and the cheese garlic bread in the oven, I couldn’t keep my mind on the food.

The door slammed. That was all. I couldn’t tell if Chase had come back in or left, so I trod carefully into the living room, ready to take on whatever was happening. But Chase sunk into the couch with his head buried in his arms, rocking.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him as I reached down to rub his back. His shirt stuck to his back with perspiration. “Did you break up?”

Chase’s eyes were swollen and red. Tears trickled through his dark lashes and spilled down his cheeks. Absentmindedly, his hand smeared them away. “She’s pregnant.”

Fate had slapped me hard across the face. “I told you she was trouble, didn’t I?” I breathed a heavy sigh, grateful the chapter of Chase’s first love was over with nothing more than a crack in his heart. He’d gotten off lucky. I leaned over and cupped his face in my hands, staring into his watery hazel eyes.

“It’s mine,” he said, his voice loud now, as if he’s ready to take on the world.

“What do you mean?” I shook my head, and my jaw gripped tightly and then released. My mind was buzzing with all of this nonsense. The situation was too much to bear. “I thought you were still a virgin!”

“I am, physically, but those other guys took advantage of her when she was down. I can’t abandon her. She has nobody, mom, and I love her.”

“You’re going to give up your entire life for this girl?”

“You can say ‘no’ if you want to.”

“Yes, I could say that, but would it make a difference?”

With slumped shoulders, he was anything but happy. Not at all what a new father looks like when he’s heard the good word and boasts to his coworkers. “No,” he whispered. “I thought you’d be proud of me for sticking up for her.”

“Chase,” I said, “Sticking up for someone doesn’t mean throwing your life away because she made a huge mistake. Is she keeping it?”

“She said she is. She was torn up and crying.” He paused, “I gotta support her.”

Without another word, he slipped into his room. I was aware of what would be going on in his room without even taking it in first-hand. He’d put his headphones on, lean back on his bed with his hands behind his head and stare up at the ceiling. That was Chase.

Hurrying as fast as I could, I stumbled out the front door and caught her trotting ahead in the distance. A boy popped out of the bushes and grabbed her by the arm. Initially, I quickened my pace under the impression someone was attacking her. But she threw her head back and planted a firm one on the boy’s lips, one foot kicking playfully up behind her. I followed the young couple to a house porch and watched them go inside.

None of it made sense to me, and I considered going home and telling Chase what I saw, but couldn’t bring myself to do that. He’s already mixed up as it is and until I thoroughly comprehend what’s happening, I shouldn’t jump the gun. I was good at doing that but not so good at holding back. Perfect time to practice my self-control. I appeared to have less lately.

I noticed there was no car in the driveway, and the sun was setting. Making sure no one saw me, I tiptoed around the side of the house. The light came on in the basement window well. I thought about lying down with intentions to observe but didn’t–at first.

Chaos was breaking loose in my head when I heard her voice screaming, “I fucking love you!” The same words that had displayed on my son’s phone.

I bent over, peering into the cracked open window, for a full view look at two naked teens spooning on top of the bedclothes. “I love you so much,” he murmured against her hair, and she groaned with a smile. “So you told him?” he questioned as he strained his head off the pillow, bending over her shoulder.

“I did one better than that,” she said, craning her face toward him, “I told him I was pregnant. The love-sick puppy is so head-over-heels for me I’m sure that when I say I can’t do it and give him the sad and forlorn princess look, he’ll figure out where to get the money to fix it.”

“What do you mean?” The guys seemed a bit put off.

“Then we’ll have money to take off on the road. That’ll give you enough time to find a job and everything, right?” She squirmed her butt against him. “Oh, I’m so in love with you.”

“Where’s he going to get that kind of money?”

“Who cares?” she wiggles a bit and giggles, clutching his arms against her naked breast. “Maybe that mother of his will come to her little boy’s rescue. All I know is when Chase says he’ll do something, he does it. He’s as loyal as they come–just like a dog.”

A cell phone goes off, and the boy’s voice answers it. “Hello?” A pause, and he continues, “Yeah, I’ll be right home. ‘Bye.” The boy grabbed his clothes and threw them on in a hasty manner.

“Where are you going?” she rolled over and grabbed at the front of his pants, but he pushed her hand away and finished doing up his shirt. “If we’re going to get away without suspicion, we’ve got to act normal. I’ve got to get home and help my mom.”

“Fine.” Pushing herself up with her hands, she leans forward off the side of the bed. “This weekend, right? For sure?”

“Yeah. This weekend. I’m pretty sure I can get a job on a construction crew down south. I’m sixteen, and that’s all I need to be.”

He leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips. Her arms reached for him, but again, he knocked them away. “Not now.”

“Oh,” she whined like a baby deprived of her favorite toy.

Chase was at home, frustrated and hurting. This situation I witnessed would hurt him even more. He would promise all sorts of work in exchange for money–and then she’d take it and run away with this other boy. The bitch.

Searching her yard, I picked up a coiled hose because that’s all I could find. But then I spotted a long chain curled around a stake as if a dog had been captive at one time but no more. Laying the hose down, I grabbed the chain and looped the links over my wrist.

I popped into the window well and squatted down to squint into the room. The light was on, but she was nowhere in sight. The window jimmied open quickly, and I slid inside. The chain rattled against the metal frame as it slid in behind me. I froze, sure she would hear me. I waited, but no voices sounded anywhere in the house. Apparently, we were alone. All the better to question her without some adult interfering.

Sliding the window closed, I crept down beside the bed and waited. Not long after, the bedroom door opened, and she came in, talking on the phone. “We’re leaving this weekend,” she giggled. “See? I told you it would all work out. Hey, maybe you can come down and visit us!”

The slutty princess had it all planned out. My son was supposed to pay for her rendezvous with her flavor of the month. Rejection was one thing, but this was something far more sinister. I waited for her to finish her smug and glorifying conversation so she could get off the phone. My ears focused in on the beep of the button when she did shut it down.

I was so angry, I meant to tie her up and question her, insulting her and making her feel like the trash she was, but that isn’t what happened.

The next I recall, I was staring down at a girl’s face. Her eyes beamed up at me vast and empty. A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her throat released a final breath of air as her fingers loosened from the chain cinched tight around her neck. Spots behind the chain left speckles of dark purple where the skin had been pinched between the links.

“Heather,” her mother called as the front door slammed shut upstairs. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

That was my cue. I clamored for the window and heaved myself up into the well, scrambling to break away free. I sprinted as fast as I could all the way home. Home to my son. Home to our simple life. Home to freedom. After all, what’s a mother to do?